A Little Help
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: Natasha Romanoff was not a damsel in distress, who needed a white knight. But, she did need help from time to time. A little violent at the beginning but a lot of love at the end.


_Johannesburg, South Africa _

She shivered, but it wasn't cold.

A pale kaleidoscope of colors spun before her eyes; imagined but not seen. They weren't there. She had to remind herself of that. She had only managed a brief glimpse of the blindfold before it was wrapped around her head and knotted in her hair. The ornately patterned silk, South African in origin, and heavy with the smell of cigar smoke, rubbed the delicate tissue of her eyes and pulled at her hair. Her head itched and the scent of sweat mixed unpleasantly with burnt tobacco. Her wrists felt raw; the skin blistered and red from the rough texture of the ropes. Adrenaline seized her, drawing her up until she snapped; explosive bursts of energy escaping with hard tremors and a dangerously erratic heartbeat.

Not to mention, the sensory deprivation method they seemed to prefer. Her senses were totally screwed; she couldn't see, a painful ringing in her ears nearly deafened her, and with her hands bound, she couldn't tell much aside from the fact that the walls were metal and the floor was concrete. Even that, she couldn't prove. It was her mind that completely screwed with her; the vivid imaginings of everything they could think up to do her. She had endured torture, the likes of which had killed grown men, and had come out stronger but there was more than just her own life to think about.

There was Steve.

Like wolves skulking around a darkened forest, waiting for a feed, they would circle her, hunting for weaknesses, and when they found one, they'd go in for the kill. Captain America, he may be, but she was left with the distinct impression that carrying around the title of America's darling super-soldier would only make him more invaluable to her captors. They could use Steve against her, force her to give up what she knew with thinly veiled threats to kill him. A hostage like Steve Rogers meant they would have a lot of pull. They could use him to get whatever they want. And, Natasha Romanoff would die before she let them violate him in that manner.

Through the loud ringing in her ears, she could just make out the sounds of someone coming in the room; metal scraping concrete, shoes - shiny, Italian leather, if her memory served her - clicked, and the heavy, shallow breaths of her portly interrogator filled the room. Markus Alessandri was the very reason she'd been sent to Johannesburg in the first place. Given, she hadn't been expecting the pudgy faced, beady-eyed, always flushed and breathless short stack she had been faced with, he was the reason. He gave new meaning to the term large and in charge, was a slimeball racketeer, whose motivations were for his own gain, with a gang of degenerates, who had already served a life sentence between the six of them.

"And, how's our little spy?" Thick accent, booming voice. "Ready to give up, no?"

She spewed profanities at him, her thick Russian slurred but fluent. A leathery hand stopped her with a sharp smack to her face. The stinging crack forced her head sideways; a crimson flush blossomed along her cheekbone from the broken blood vessels, and her eyes water from the pain. But, no. She's not giving up. She came here to do a job and now that it's done, she has every intention of returning home alive, whether this fool and his merry band of hooligans are willing to let her or not.

"Now, not very nice of you to say such things." Oh, the imbecile didn't even realize how not nice they truly were. "When I have more power than you."

"More power?" She wanted to laugh in his face but seeing as how she couldn't exactly see his face, that wasn't an option. She let coarse laughter escape her, filling the room with a harsh bark of forced amusement. Something her captors obviously didn't appreciate, if the scuffling of shoes against the floor was indicative of their behavior. "You should invest in quieter shoes, then. Sneakers, perhaps. I can hear you coming in those shoes, you might as well wear high heels."

"High heels? I'm here to get information and you want to talk about shoes?" his breath was stale with the scent of South Africa's famous liqeur, Amarula when he sneered in her face. It made her want to throw up on his expensive Italian shoes. And, that's not just because she legitimately wanted to kill this guy. She'd always hated the sugary concoction of cream and fruit that made up the famous alcohol and the smell of it on his breath combined with the adrenaline in her system made her queasy.

"I'm in Johannesburg because you already killed everyone else qualified enough to deal with you lot." Natasha jeered, snorting in an unladylike manner. "Black marketing blueprints for weapons, not surprising it's run by a slimeball like you."

"Slimeball?"

"You prefer degenerate? Like your men?" Natasha would have raised an eyebrow at him, if she could. "Between the six of them, they've served a whole life sentence, plus some. The morons who tied me up served fifty years between them."

"How you do know that?" His thick accent resonated harshly; anger coloring his words.

"I do my research." She twisted in her seat, antsy and irritated. "Your men should do theirs before they ask for a job. They don't know you plan to kill them after the next auction, do they?"

"Ignore her. She don't know what she's talking about." he tried in vain to brush her off, but the truth in her words scared him. Realization dawned heavy; there was more to this spy than any of them knew. And he was in trouble.

"But, I do, Markus."

The atmosphere shifted, roughened, grew white-hot with anger. Markus Alessandri was agitated and Natasha Romanoff had no way of knowing what he would do. She couldn't see his reaction, couldn't gauge him by anything but his breathing. The shallow, heavy breaths grew labored and with a leonine roar, his clenched fist collided with her face. Her nose broke with a sickening crack and blood leaked, salty and hot, into her mouth.

"You only have words, little spy." he snarled, twisting his blunt fingers into her hair. Without warning, he pulled hard and a feral cry ripped from her throat. "Think before you speak."

"And, you only have torture." Natasha gritted her teeth roughly, grunting as his fingers tightened. "You don't have the balls to kill me."

"I don't?"

"No. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already." Natasha breathed heavily, writhing beneath his hand. "Or, you would have your morons do the dirty work. You only have the intimidation, the threats, but no follow-through. You're a weak-minded sociopath."

He yanked again, laughing when it elicited another feral cry. "Who's the weak one, _little spy_?"

The words were right on the tip of her tongue when the door was ricocheted off of the wall. Whoever it was startled her captor because his hand ripped out of her hair and he seemed to back away from her. His hooligan employees started yelling in some language she couldn't translate but were quickly cut off by the invader. She heard six thumps almost one right after the other as they dropped like flies. Her captor was next, if the way he had so quickly backed away from her was any indication. She was on the verge of crying out, if only to grab the person's attention when she heard a familiar voice growl; _"Don't move." _

xxx

Loons, the three of them.

The guards were gangly ex-pirates, obviously looking for easy money, and unable to handle someone who had more width in his shoulders than they had around the middle. A couple of strategic hits with his shield had left them sprawled on the hot dirt, with very little blood shed. It hadn't been hard but the closer he got to where Natasha was being held, the more he wished he had kept one of them conscious long enough to find out what exactly he faced when he found her.

A feral cry, muffled but distinctly female, led him in the right direction. Sweat dripped down his face from the stifling heat of the darkened corridor. The salty moisture pooled in his palms and he absently wiped them dry on his pants, needing to not have clammy hands when faced with the task of freeing Natasha. The reassuring smoothness of his metal shield brushed against his arm; a couple of leather strap attachments, courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D allowed him to toss his shield on his back like a backpack and swing it off easily, when needed.

Swinging it off of his back, he readied himself for the fight and kicked the door open. He looked around briefly, taking stock of his opponents. Six guys, barely bigger than the loons he had just sprawled on the , and one short, fat man with his hand knotted in Natasha's red curls. His six bodyguards drop like flies when they finally decide to do something about his presence. His shield breaks three noses and he takes care of the rest. By the time he's finished, Natasha's captor is slowly backing away like the coward he's proven himself to be.

"Don't move." he spared a glance at blindfolded Natasha. She's pale, terribly sweaty, and he could practically hear her bones rattling from her hard trembling. "What'd you do to her?"

"Nothing." Markus spat, "Stupid little spy wouldn't give me anything."

"It's not her job." Steve growled, advancing toward him. Sweat dotted his dark hairline and his pupils dilated rapidly. Every muscle in his face tensed; snapping to attention at the anger in Steve's voice. It was of no concern to the patriot, though, who tossed his shield down and advanced on him again. "Her job is none of your concern. Her well-being, however, is mine."

"Take the slut!"

"First of all, she is not _that._" Ridiculous as it soundded, Steve would not say that word. "Second of all, I didn't come here just to get her, I came here to help her take you down. You see, _Markus,_" he's cornered him now, preparing him for the kill-shot, worked him up only to bring him down. "What you don't know is that the agency I work for has been watching you for some time now and they knew the exact moment you took her hostage. Now, while in any given situation, she can take care of herself, when you put her in here, we figured that wasn't quite the case."

"What do you mean?" Oh, he's panicked now. Wondering, waiting for Steve to do whatever it is he has planned.

"When you brought her here, we suspected something was different." His head tilted, eyes narrowed at Natasha's captor. "Then, she started having the anxiety attacks and cardiac arrest became a problem. When it became clear, her health was declining, they sent me. Now, don't get me wrong, I'd be more than happy to let her take care of you like I know she wants too, but I can hear her shaking and I know that she's barely able to move, so you have to deal with me and seeing as how I'm bigger than the both of you, I really don't think you're going to like this. I don't like bullies and I _especially _don't like it when _she _is the target."

"What are you going to do?" Markus sneered angrily.

A crushing blow to his ribs shut him up and with a knee to his sternum, he crumpled to the ground in a heap, moaning pathetically in pain. While her captor was dealing with the pain, Steve set about freeing Natasha. He tore the fabric from her eyes, careful not to tear her hair out and knelt down to take care of her wrists and ankles. His knife - custom engineered, gift from Tony - took care of the ropes and freed her in seconds.

"Wait here, 'Tasha." he murmured in her ear. "I'll be back for you, I promise, but please just stay here."

"Okay."

Her feeble attempt at a response was enough for him to realize that she's not strong enough to argue. He looked her over, noting the faint handprint on her cheek and the scrapes on her feet and knees, from where she had obviously been dragged across the concrete floor. They hadn't played nice, and judging from the sensory deprivation they had subjected her to, they were willing to drag it out as long as necessary to get what they wanted from her. He disappeared from the room and reentered with a couple of SHIELD agents. "Over there," he pointed to the man, still laying on the ground. They cast a sidelong glance at Natasha in the chair and he directed them back to their job. "I've got her. Get him out of here."

With the criminal taken care of, Steve turned his attention to Natasha. "Can you walk?"

"I-I'll try."

Her teeth chatter with every word and he was not inclined to believe her. Unwilling to let her even try to walk, he scooped her up into his arms and cradled her against his chest, not the least bit surprised when she didn't protest. Instead, she sank into his warmth and closed her eyes. He had never seen Natasha so vulnerable, not in this respect. She normally has so much fight and strength, to see her broken down like this, it's crushing him.

"S-Steve?" she mumbled into his chest.

"What is it, Tasha?" Steve murmurs gently, kissing her head.

"T-thank you."

"Always, Tasha."

xxx

He did his very best not to laugh when she was given a sedative.

While not argumentative, she was stubborn and prone to wanting things her way. The infirmary doctors, however, had their own stubborn streak and told her point-blank how it had to be. Her blood pressure had been irregular and there was still adrenaline in her system, it had been either take the sedative then or make friends with the toilet bowl later. She was in the middle of a very long-winded explanation of why she would be okay when, over her head, he had given the doctor the okay to give her the sedative. The end result had been amusing to say the least. The sedative had cut her off in the middle of a word, too obscene to warrant repeating, but the mildness of it hadn't kept her from arguing for another couple of hours.

That had been well over eight hours ago and he hadn't left her side since. He watched her sleep with a tired vigilance, unsure if it qualifies as sleep when it's result of a heavy sedative. Her wounds have been tended to; her nose is healing nicely and the blood has been cleaned from her face. Her wrists and ankles have been treated with a simple balm. SHIELD was very rare simple with anything but there isn't much to be done for the raw abrasions aside from a soothing balm to stop the sting.

There wasn't a thing to be done about the memories though.

That kind of torture, taking away her senses, messing with her mind, it scarred deep and she'd probably always remember her time in Johannesburg. Some day, when the memories weren't so raw and clear, he'd bring her back and he'd show her the flip side of the coin. He'd show her the true beauty of South Africa. The sunsets and the rich culture and everything that could be enjoyed in Johannesburg. He'd transform the bad into something good.

Natasha shifted under the thin sheet, hands wringing at her sides, the memory of being bound clinging to the forefront of her mind. He pressed one of his hands into hers and found she stilled immediately, settling back down into her bed. The sedative would be wearing off soon and he's unsure of how she'll wake up. Whether she'll be drowsy and slightly blurred or if she'll wake up sharp and frenzied. He can't remember the last time he felt this protective over someone.

He certainly hadn't felt this way about Bucky, if anything it had been just the opposite. His mother was a different story altogether. He had been a Mama's boy through and through and while he had been protective of his mother to a certain extent, for the most part, he relied on her to keep him safe. That was her 'job' - it felt wrong to describe her in that manner - and she did it well, for the short time he had her. Having her for eighteen years doesn't seem like a lot when you're just out of high school and barely healthy enough to go outside.

He still missed his Mom, but he had Natasha now and she seemed to fill that void.

She cooked for him, cleaned up the occasional mess when time did not allow him to tend to his home as needed, and she was there for him when he needed her. Given - the first six months or so, being there for him had involved committing a felony in order to get into his apartment unseen, she had been there for him and that counts. Her notes in his files and fresh sketchbooks delivered in the shadows of midnight each week had been what sustained him for a while. Seeing her handwriting and the brand new blank book made his adjustment to the current century a little easier. She was always looking out for him whether it was making sure he had fresh sketchbooks to fill or simply cooking four eggs for his breakfast instead of just two. It was the little things that let him know she cared.

Now, it was his turn to look out for her. He hated that this had happened to her but he'll never be sorry for the opportunity it brings. She never let him take care of her, always caring too much about what he thought to realize that he loved her and wanted to take care of her. He wanted to spoil her, just for a little while and show her that she deserved to be loved and taken care of. That her ledger was of no consequence to him. He doubted she'd ever see herself the way he saw her and that truly saddened him.

He wanted her to love herself, not live in constant fear that her ledger was going to scare away anyone who tried to get close to her.

xxx

He was half-asleep, elbow resting on one narrow plastic arm of the chair he had dragged to her bedside, when she woke up. Sweat dotted her hairline and her jade eyes blink heavily, forcing the sleep away. Her mouth felt dry and she couldn't seem to wrap her tongue around his name. She knew he was there, but her head felt heavy and turning it seemed impossible. Her limbs had become dead weights, or so it seemed to her, but she moved her hands and the rustle of the sheets was enough to grab his attention

"'Tasha?" he rested his hand on top of hers and leaned forward eagerly. "'Tasha?"

She twisted her hand around and squeezed his fingers, swallowing thickly in a rough attempt to prepare her voice for speech. "Steve?"

His free hand slipped through her hair, dry warmth wicking away the sweat and smoothing the damp curls away from her forehead, allowing her skin the air it needs to cool. Her fever had broke a little over an hour ago but her temperature was still working it's way back to normal. He smiled gently and nodded. "Hey, you're awake."

"What happened?" she looked around, obviously confused. "What's - "

"Shh." Steve calmed her easily, drawing circles in the palm of her hand in a soothing, repetitious manner. "It's a mild sedative. You had adrenaline in your system. You couldn't come down on your own. Not after what you've been through."

"What about the - ?"

"Fury broke him about three hours ago. Confessed to everything." Steve reassured her, twirling a curl around his finger just to watch it spring back into place. "The FBI and CIA are eager to get their hands on him but Fury seems to think he has information that could be valuable to SHIELD."

"What do you think?" Natasha inquired, wincing at how thick and gravelly her voice had become after being sedated.

"I think we can talk about this later, when you're lucid." Steve laughed, hoping to ease her away from the topic of her captor. He was still trying to forget the word 'slut' ever being used in reference to Natasha. Actually, he was trying to forget her captor's very existence and up until then, it had been going quite well. Call it a coping mechanism, if you wish, but there were some things best forgotten and the existence of some men was one of them. "I'm going to go talk to the doctors. See if I can take you home."

"Wait," she grabbed his wrist, calling his attention back to her before he can make his getaway. "Where are we? The helicarrier?"

"We'll be landing soon." he leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I'm just going to make sure I can take you home instead of back to SHIELD headquarters."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About eleven hours. Nine, if you don't count the two hours we spent arguing with you about whether or not you needed the sedative, after it had already been administered." Steve laughed, squeezing her hand. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay."

He disappeared from sight and she sank down into the mattress again, feeling a wave of nausea overcome her. Her face hurt - actually, correction, her entire body hurt and the abrasions on her wrists, ankles, and the slight marks around her eyes are starting to sting. The memories were the worst though. The darkness, the anxiety, the worry about her captor finding out about Steve. Everything. It's all there, fresh in her mind. Memories no sedative could ever blur.

"Hey," he reentered the room with a small black duffel bag in his hand. "So, we're not needed at SHIELD and I suspect we have Coulson to thank for that."

"What's in the bag?" she pointed to the bag hanging at his side.

"Your suit." Steve held it up. "And some clothes, unless you plan on going home in nothing but a paper hospital gown."

"Well, it'd get them talking about something besides us." Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Until we walk out together." Steve retorted, setting the bag at the foot of her bed. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better." Natasha shrugged, "Certainly been a lot worse."

"Cap?" a soft, young intern knocked on the doorframe to get his attention. "Director Fury asked me to tell you that we have landed and there is a car waiting to take you wherever you want to go."

"Thanks." Steve nodded, looking down at Natasha as the intern skittered back down the hall. The phrase over-excited puppies comes to mind when describing SHIELD interns. They all want to work for SHIELD, doing their best to impress Fury and Coulson _(Don't touch Lola) _in hopes of receiving a job when their internship was up. He laughed at the thought and kissed Natasha's head. "Let's get you to a bathroom to get dressed."

"You're not going to carry me again, are you?" Natasha eyed him threateningly.

"Not without protection." Steve grinned. "Think Stark would let me borrow a suit?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at his quip and and tossed the blankets off of her legs. He took his chances on helping her up but going no further than that. He knew Natasha had her boundaries and crossing them would mean likening her to a damsel in distress, which she absolutely was not. He grabbed the bag and walked with her to the bathroom, handing it to her before she disappeared behind the heavy gray door. She emerged a few minutes later in a pair of looser jeans and a tank top with low rise sneakers and handed him the bag.

"The doctor on board gave me this." he held up a tube of the same balm that had been used to treat the abrasions on her wrists and ankles. "Said it should clear everything up in a couple of days."

"So, what - " Natasha broke off, unsure of how to ask the question, or even what she was asking.

"They treated your injuries, which were pretty minor considering, and administered a relatively mild sedative to help slow your heart rate." Steve explained patiently. "There wasn't really much to be done except that. The sedative helped slow your heart and let your blood pressure regulate. The doctor said the rest would be up to you."

Them leaving together was a sight to behold and most of SHIELD was present to do just that.

After all, it wasn't everyday Captain America escorted Black Widow out of the helicarrier. He was quite certain there would be rumors burning like wildfires around the headquarters about this later but at present, that was not his main concern. As promised by Fury, there was a car waiting for them but it wasn't the car that surprised him, but rather the driver. Actually, it really shouldn't have surprised him given the man had watched him sleep - he preferred not to think about how long that went on - but still, seeing Phil Coulson in his suit and sunglasses, leaning against the black car was a bit of a surprise.

"Agent Coulson." Steve greeted warmly, happy to see a familiar face.

"Captain." Coulson nodded respectfully, reaching for the door handle to open the door for them. "Your place?"

"Please."

xxx

There was very little conversation on the drive to his apartment, both of them too exhausted to bother with pointless chatter. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since he fought his way into the hell-hole she was being kept in and helped her out of it; only eighteen and while they haven't quite wrapped their heads completely around it, the fact that she held his hand the whole ride, even with Coulson in the front seat, let him know that it was sinking in.

"Here we are, Captain." Coulson pulled the car to a stop in front of Steve's apartment building and looked at them through the rearview mirror. "Natasha, take care of yourself."

"I will, Coulson."

Bags in hand and cautious of Phil's all-seeing eye, they made their way up to Steve's apartment. She stood in front of his door, arms wrapped around herself, while he dug for his keys. He reached around her to unlock the door and pushed it open. He flipped on the light and with a sigh of relief, they sink into the cool retreat of his comfortable apartment. He dropped his keys and their bags on his couch to be put away later, dragging his hand through his hair as he turned to Natasha. "Shower's yours first, if you want it. I'll order us some food."

"Not hungry." Natasha shook her head, looking down at the cream carpeting.

"Okay." Steve nodded, understanding. He looked around awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. It was obvious she didn't feel as if she could relax and the way he saw it, he could let her work it out for herself and or help her. Already knowing what his choice would be, he made his way over to her and lifted her head with a gentle hand under her chin. "Look at me, Tasha." he tried not to grimace at the heavy bruising on her cheek, instead just stroked it gently before taking her by the arms. "You're home, now."

"I know."

"Yet, you're standing at the door, looking around like you don't know where you are." Steve chided gently, meeting her eyes as he continued. "I know what that man did to you, Natasha. I know he put you through hell and you'll never forget that, but you're home now. And, I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe now."

"I know." Natasha nodded. "I just - "

"Have a hard time adjusting without anything to do." Steve understood, or at the very least, he tried to. "You know, I went through hell too." her eyebrows shot skyward, silently questioning and encouraging him. "Fury showed up at my apartment, told me that it was an emergency and there was a helicopter on the roof waiting to take me to the helicarrier. I didn't think much of it until he briefed me on our way to Africa."

"What'd he tell you?" Natasha asked him softly, reaching for him.

"That you had been sent to South Africa to deal with black market weapons dealers. I didn't think much of it. Thought maybe someone had been hurt or it was too much for one person." he shrugged, looking anywhere but directly at her. "Then, he told me that they had taken you hostage and that you had no means of escape. Apparently, Coulson had eyes on his crew the whole time and thought you could get out like you usually do, it was just part of how you were going to bring them in. But, when you didn't, he knew something was wrong and they called me in."

"And, you found me." she reassured him.

"Yes."

His closed eyes and shallow breathing make her aware of just how hard it had been for him. For both of them. He slowly backed her up until she was trapped between him and the door. Whatever's between them, whatever happened tonight, it had to be for the right reason. He doesn't want to take advantage of her vulnerability. The mission had been hard on both of them and to do anything she wasn't ready for would make her think she was nothing more than a toy to be used and then, tossed aside.

That would never be his intention.

When his head tilted just enough to catch her in a feather-light kiss, he's surprised to feel her sink into him; practically melt into him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up as she wound her arms around his neck. He paid extra attention to anywhere she might be sore as he pressed her into the door and buried his hands in her cayenne curls while she explored the broad expanse of his shoulders. When he reached for the hem of her tank top, he forced himself to pull back and assess the situation. "Natasha, wait. Are you sure about this?"

"I wouldn't be here, if I wasn't." Natasha reaffirmed, eager to pull him in for a kiss.

Without another word, he moved them to his bedroom and in the tender cradle of darkness, demons and memories are chased away. Love was made and shown in numerous ways, from soft caresses to passionate kisses to sweet words murmured against heated skin. Muscles stretched and contracted, pulling and releasing with every arc and roll of hips and with the quiet strength of muscular arms propping him above her, keeping his weight off of her.

When morning light dawned, golden and warm through his bedroom window, they are both spent. The previous days are all but forgotten about but they both know, it was only a temporary fix. Hopefully, it will be a distant memory one day but for now, they'd have to help each other through. She wasn't a damsel in distress and he wasn't the white knight who always had to drop everything to save her. That wasn't their story.

She was Black Widow and he was Captain America.

They helped each other.

* * *

**Ugh. Two months after it's genesis and several days of working on it, I have finally finished the monster originally titled 'Red Dragon' - when I named it, it was a completely different idea. Ugh. I don't feel like explaining anything else just leave me some love, Dolls! **

**Love, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


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